


Saturn

by emeraldorchids



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldorchids/pseuds/emeraldorchids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living on hope and all that jazz...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturn

_I visited the town where She lives. My cousin was thinking of moving there, and I volunteered to give him the grand tour. "There's just something special about this town," I told him. He didn't see it, but I did._

_I tried to forget her, but she was there—in every room, around every corner, sitting on every bench. Memories I'd forgotten to forget came flooding back. Walking through the snow, I cried for a life I missed._

_I don't know that I could have stopped the earth from turning on its axis, but I do know that I didn't try hard enough. I was the one who left, and I am the one who walks around every day of my life, missing an integral piece of my being. I've been through those memories so many times, endless possibilities waging war against the heartsick._

_A card I gave her in 2007 still sat on the ledge of her window. She has a different view now, but inside, she's still the same. I wonder what she thought of me as she packed up her office, relocating objects with such strong memories of their own. Nine years down, eleven to go. I realized that this is now the defining theme of my life, and for a moment, I can hope. We used to talk about my "super powers." If they were worth anything at all, I wouldn't have lost her. I need to keep trying. As terrifying as it is to think about, I need some sort of closure._

_What memory does my mind land on? She's driving her Saturn, well under the speed limit, and she reaches across the console for my hand. Fingers intertwined and resting on my thigh, we drove out of town. The ride was mostly silent. I was wearing a pale yellow cardigan, buttoned at the top, with my size four jeans and an incredibly uncomfortable pair of brown straw wedges. We held hands in the small movie theater, cloaked by the darkness in a little town where no one knew us. It was a foreign film, and while we were out, our cabbage rolls were cooking in the oven at her house. It was a date, though I didn't realize it until months later._

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's been over eight years since they've seen each other. (Neither one counts the time Miranda sat directly behind her at her colleague's funeral mass; they didn't see each other until the sign of peace, and then, their eyes never met.)

Andy checks the time on her phone. 4:56 PM. She takes a deep breath and re-reads the postcard she sent her last month. (She took a picture so she would remember exactly how she wrote it. Writing fifteen drafts has a way of distorting reality.)

She fidgets and plays with the lid of her coffee. She's not thirsty, not when her stomach is doing somersaults. Again, she checks the time. 5:06 PM.

5:12 PM.

5:34 PM.

Andy sighs and shakes her head as she reaches for her purse, then suddenly she freezes. She doesn't have to look up to know who it is, but she needs to know it isn't a delusion.

Their eyes meet, and Miranda silently walks over to the table and takes a seat.

Andy cannot hide the silly grin on her face. "Hi," she says quietly.

"Hello," she responds.

Andy wants to say more, but at the moment, she cannot form a single word as her eyes well with tears. She brings her fingertips up to her mouth as her emotions erupt.

Miranda's gaze softens, and she reaches across the table for the young woman's hand.

A strangled sob escaped Andy's lips as she squeezed Miranda's hand. Suddenly, it's too much, and she needs to leave. She grabs her purse and starts walking away when Miranda reaches out and catches her wrist.

"Wait," she called.

Andy stopped and looked back through teary eyes. "I don't know what to say, Miranda. I am overwhelmed—this is too much for me. I have only ever wanted to be completely and totally honest with you, but now I am terrified to speak and say the wrong thing again," she said. "Um, thank you for coming, and I am sorry I cannot stay." She quickly pulled her hand away and headed for the door, practically running out to her car.

Inside the car, Andy leaned against the steering wheel, sobbing uncontrollably.

A few minutes later, there was a gentle tapping on her window. Andy didn't need to look up to know who it was. When it was clear the young woman wasn't going to open the door, Miranda said, "Would you like to go somewhere else and talk? My place, or perhaps back inside?"

Andy nodded and wiped her eyes.

"Will you be okay driving?" Miranda asked, gesturing with her hands.

Andy nodded and started her Jeep, knowing she was entering dangerous territory.

"Follow me," Miranda said, crossing the parking lot to her own vehicle. Andy put the car in drive and followed the woman's BMW out of the parking lot.

She followed her for nearly twenty minutes before she realized they were going back to the townhouse. Miranda drove down the block, pausing in front of her house and gesturing that she was going to drive around. Andy parked on the street in front of the townhouse, then took her time climbing the steps while the editor drove around to the garage in back. In no time at all, Miranda opened the front door and stepped aside, letting the young woman in. She shut the door, then took Andy's coat and placed it on the coat rack in the foyer.

Glancing around the foyer, Andy frowned at the changes. Miranda had redone the place. She couldn't blame her—it _had_ been eight years.

"I redecorated after Stephen left," she said. She cracked a smile and looked up at Andrea. "I never refer to it like that—that _he_ left _me_. I usually refer to it as 'the divorce' or something equally vague. I see you still have that effect on me."

Andy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I am truly sorry about what happened in Paris—what he did, what I did, what I said, what I didn't do…" Andy paused and took another deep breath, this time allowing her eyes to flutter open, meeting Miranda's.

Time seemed to stand still as they gazed into one another's eyes. Finally, Miranda tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

Andy broke her gaze and began blinking away her tears. "I wish you could see how much I love you," she whispered, finally, quickly bringing her fingertips to cover her lips and keep any other confessions from spilling out.

"Oh, sweetheart," Miranda said softly as she reached up and tucked the young woman's hair behind her ear.

Andy looked up, searching her eyes for a sign—anything—but all she saw was the sparkle in her eyes. Without wasting another minute, she leaned in and pressed her lips against the woman's.

Miranda broke the kiss and put her arms up to distance herself from the other woman, stopping when she backed into the wall. "Andrea—"

"I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have come here," she muttered under her breath as she began to walk away.

"Wait!" Miranda called, reaching out for her, but Andrea jerked her arm away and headed for the front door. "Andrea, stop," she said.

The young woman paused at the front door and stood there in silence, staring at the floor. Miranda took a deep breath and with some hesitation, she reached out for the woman's arm, causing her to jump at the unexpected contact. "Wait, please don't leave," Miranda said. "I don't know what to say."

Andrea shrugged. "It was a mistake coming here at all. I think you said it all when you pushed me away," she added.

"No," she said quickly. "I mean, it wasn't a mistake—just unexpected. We shouldn't be doing this."

Andrea turned around and met her eyes. "Wait. Really?"

"What would your mother think?"

"Honestly? Who cares!" Andrea said, throwing her hands up in the air. "You want this. I can tell."

"Andrea, there is so much to consider," Miranda said.

"Try me," she said. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, I mean, it's just—it's not normal. I'm divorced. I was married—to a man, to several men. And you—you had that boyfriend."

"So it's because I'm a woman?"

"No. It's—" her voice trailed off as she looked down at the ground.

"Miranda, for once in your life, will you make a selfish decision? Do something that you want, that will benefit no one but you?" Andrea asked. "You've spent your life making decisions for others—the magazine, your daughters, to name a few. Do something that _Miranda_ wants for once."

"And you presume to know what it is that I want for myself?" Miranda said quietly.

"No, I really don't know, but I want you to do something because _you_ want to. Maybe it's not me, but—"

"Or maybe it is."

Andrea's eyes shot up. She couldn't believe what she heard.

"Can we at least go upstairs and move away from this front window?" she asked.

Andrea smiled and nodded, reaching out for Miranda's hand as they slowly climbed the stairs. Once inside the bedroom, she shut the door and walked over to the bed, reaching down and pulling her shirt over her head.

Miranda turned and looked away, clearly flustered.

"What's wrong?" Andrea asked.

"I've never done this before."

"Had a quickie? Hooked up with a former assistant? Had the best sex of your life?" Andrea asked with a grin.

"No, I mean, with a woman," she said, blushing. "But for your information I also have never hooked up with a former assistant," she added.

Andrea took her hand and pulled her close. Their chests, hips, and toes were touching. She pressed her cheek against the other woman's and just stood there in silence. "Lose the shirt. Lie down with me. Let's start there."

Miranda nodded and stepped back, turning around as she removed her blouse. Andrea climbed onto the bed, as Miranda wrapped her arms around her waist, covering her stomach. "Andrea, I have scars, and my skin sags in places…"

"And yet you are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," Andrea said.

Miranda shook her head. "I can't—you need to leave," she said, grabbing the throw from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders. "I can't do this. I'm—I'm so sorry," she said before running out of the room.

Andrea threw her sweater on and followed the woman, grabbing her robe from the chair by the door. After looking through several rooms, she found Miranda in the study, curled up on the sofa, the blanket wrapped tightly around her.

"I thought you might want this," Andrea said as she cautiously approached her. "Come on, I'll look away," she said, holding up the robe and turning her head towards the door.

"Thank you," Miranda said quietly as she stood and allowed Andrea to help her into the robe.

"I'm sorry for pushing you."

"Darling, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn't push me. You were sweet and considerate and—it's me. I am the one who has…issues. Forgive me." She tightened the robe around her waist as she walked over to the window.

"Miranda," the young woman said, approaching the window but keeping a comfortable distance, "I've spent the past eight years wondering what happened. Why you pushed me away. If I was imagining that pull between us. I think it's fair to say that I wasn't imagining it."

Miranda chuckled. "No."

"Eight years…I thought maybe whatever was stopping you would…I don't know, go away."

"Andrea, it's more complicated than that. I'm broken. You don't want me," she said quietly.

The young woman took a deep breath and approached the editor, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist as she gently pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I know. I know, and I do still want you. In fact, it makes me love you a little bit more."

"You love me because you think you can fix me. You pity me. You want to help me be normal. Be _happy_ ," she spat, pulling away from the young woman's arms. "I'm not fixable, so don't waste your time!" she shouted, running out of the room.

Andrea quickly followed out of the room and caught up with the woman at the top of the stairs. "Miranda, wait," she said, reaching out for her wrist.

The woman stopped and gripped the banister. When the other woman let go of her wrist, she turned and looked at her, shocked to see the pain in Andrea's eyes.

"Miranda," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I know you. And I love you. I might not know what made you the way you are, but what matters is that I don't want to change you—well, beyond convincing you to try this with me," she added with a chuckle. "You are so beautifully complex, the last thing I want is for you to be _normal._ And if you don't want to be happy, you don't have to be. You can be whatever you want—whoever you want. But in addition to that, you can be _loved_. Up close—not from afar. Really loved and appreciated, not admired by strangers. I know it's not much, but that's what I can give to you, Miranda. It's what I want to give, if you'll accept."

The woman slowly sank to the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest. She was trembling, and it made Andrea nervous.

"Are you okay?" she asked nervously. Miranda nodded, and Andrea could see that she was sweating and beginning to hyperventilate. "What can I do?" she asked, kneeling next to her.

"I need…inhaler…" she gasped between breaths.

"Okay, where is it?" Andrea asked.

"…purse…"

The young woman sprinted down the stairs to where Miranda left her bag and after locating the inhaler, she sprinted back upstairs and handed it to the woman. Miranda's fingers fumbled with it, and despite how much she wanted to help her, she knew it could do more harm than good.

After a few tries, Miranda was able to get some of the medication into her lungs, and after feeling a bit of relief, she laid on her back on the floor.

Andrea sat patiently at the top of the stairs, taking a few deep breaths to quell her own racing heart. When it seemed like things had settled, she stood and walked over to Miranda and extended her hand.

"What?" the woman asked, looking up, confused.

"Let me help you up."

She stared at the young woman's outstretched hand for several minutes before reaching up with her own.

"Feeling better?"

Miranda nodded. "I need a drink of water," she said, pointing towards the kitchen.

"Can I join?"

Again, she nodded. In the kitchen, Miranda poured two glasses of ice water and after taking a drink, she finally looked up and met Andrea's eyes.

"I'm scared," she said quietly.

The young woman's face softened. "Of what?"

"Hurting you," she said. It was more of a question than a statement.

"Don't be. I can take it. I mean, I got through the past eight years, so I'm not sure there's much that can hurt me at this point."

"I am sorry, Andrea."

"I am, too."

They stood there at the kitchen island in silence for quite some time. Finally, Andrea spoke up. "I guess I should be going," she said. "It was nice to see you, and, um, I'm—"

"Wait, stay," Miranda interrupted her. "I want to try this."

Andrea's eyes widened as she tried to comprehend what the woman was saying.

"I would be a fool to let you walk out that door—and Miranda Priestly is no fool," she said. "Come on, we've got eight years' worth to catch up on." She walked around the island and reached for Andrea's hand.

Andrea smiled and followed the woman. She was happy. This was exactly where she wanted to be.

 

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. this one is so very personal to me.


End file.
